Jenmenke

Road Warrior

chickens

Rooster Round-Up

No, this post is not about Dave.

But I bet he wishes it was.

I have lost track of the many, many roosters that God has bestowed on me for safe keeping. That last sentence seriously escaped my typing fingers without a blush. It was only after it was on the screen in front of me, that I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

NO CHICKEN HAS EVER BEEN SAFE WITH ME. (Just ask Lola)

So let’s try that again:

I have lost track of the many, many roosters that God has burdened me with.

There. Much better.

But there should be a celestial limit placed on the number of mean roosters one person is dealt. Because I have had my share.

None rival The Chieftain, though. He scares the poop out of me.

He has now taken to attacking us. It’s all very traumatic. I’m going to try to get some actions shots tomorrow. Time is of the essence. Something tells me he’s not long for this world…

So, I had to, of course, separate this guy from the chicks when I brought them home in April. They are still separated. I had actually opened the door between their two pens late last week. I can’t tell you when I’ve laughed so hard, watching this ridiculous rooster, coo and carry on for the hens in the adjoining pen. Nothing — NOTHING — he could do would convince them to come over to the dark side.

So I shut the door a couple hours later.

About 5pm that very night I heard an awful noise: The garbled crowing of a young rooster.

I confess that right up until I heard the sound with my own ears, I had continued to talk myself into the idea that this white chicken could possibly be a hen:

I know. It was dumb.

But get this: I swear it is true. I got these at a local store that sold individual “heavy layer pullets” (that’s rural-ese for “hens only”). I went late in the season (since I wasn’t expecting Lola to kill my last two chickens in early April). I planned to get 3 or 4, but there were only five left, so I took them all. My only concern was the leggy blond one. “Do you think that might be a rooster,” I asked? “No, no, no,” said the shop keeper. “These’re all pullets,” he exclaimed!

“I been ’round the block a few times pardner,” said I, “And I know them chicken hatcheries can make mistakes!”

“Worry not,” he reiterated, “This is a hen!” Hen, my ass…

It is little consolation that I was right. Oh, I do love being right. But not this time.

So that explains the Mexican standoff the other day with the door open. And now I’ve got to figure out what to do. The Chieftain is a serious problem, and not just because he is a mean, MFing rooster that has emblazoned my legs with scars, but because he FLIES. He files EVERYWHERE.

I took my life into my hands to bring you these up close and personal pictures. Yes, I could have put the telephoto lens on, but that would have required a trip back to the house.

I have given up going out at night to put him into the coop and locking him in safe for several reasons:

  1. Because I forget
  2. Because I don’t care
  3. Because he is scary

At night chickens go into a chicken-trance and become very docile. Not him. You can pick him up, no problem, but he totally freaks out once you have him. So he roosts on the top of the fence. He’s been doing it since Memorial Day and is still alive to crow about it. Who am I to mess with his success?

But, if I do tempt fate and put the two roosters together in the big pen where The Chief now resides solo, he will teach this new flock how to fly out. And they will fly out and into the mouth of the ravenous Lola GSP.

And, then the cycle will repeat itself again: Desperate for eggs, I will unwittingly buy young roosters on Craig’s List, masquerading as hens by unscrupulous sellers, get rid of them and buy young pullets in the spring, only to be killed by Lola in late summer.

Make me stop writing now. This is depressing. I miss Sarge. He was the best rooster ever:

Immortalized and stuffed and now standing guard in my kitchen.

Sex in a Plot

Sexy Can-Can Girl CarrotThat’s sex in a garden plot! I don’t know why these photos seem so sexy to me. Well, the carrot, yes. She (clearly, it’s a she) looks like a demure, leggy vixen! I finally had to let Charlie eat her though. What would be the point of letting her languish in the refrigerator? The garlic photo, on the other hand… I guess I just think garlic, the smell of garlic, the taste of garlic, is all sexy. I love garlic. I even love garlic breath. sexy garlic

I harvested my first true carrots, thinning my rows. I’ll harvest now as needed. I direct seeded a new bed with carrots in mid July. Hopefully, those will mature before the hard frosts stop their growth. Fall harvested carrots are way better than summer.

First carrot harvest

Half my garlic was ready to harvest. I am super-paranoid about waiting too long. Every single garden source tells you that when the tops flop, they are ready to be dug. I have found that when most of the tops flop, I have rot. Now, it could be that the rot was due to late moisture, but how can you stop the rain from falling down? I’d rather sacrifice a millimeter of growth for healthy bulbs.

some garlic ready to harvestThe soft neck garlic had just started flopping over when I harvested it. The hard neck (which forms the curly scapes I wrote about a few weeks ago) takes a bit longer. My softneck variety is inchillium red… or polish red… I can’t remember which. But hear this: garlic is in my top five favorite things to grow in the garden. I love it. After digging, I leave it the sun for a day or two to dry a bit, then move it to a cool dark location to cure. You can eat it whenever, but if you cure it right, your garlic will last until next season. I will earmark the biggest heads to plant in late October for next year. For some reason, that’s always hard for me to do…

The onions are still going strong. So weird. Usually they are long done. I suspect they will start to flop in the next week or so. I have the same exact problem with onions as with garlic, so I am very quick to harvest when they show the first signs of floppage. I used to try to store them over the fall and winter, but now I like to chop and freeze most of them. Having chopped and frozen onion that you can grab by the handful is habit-forming. Plus, it’s so darn maddening to spend all that time growing and weeding only to find that every third onion is rotten in the middle two months down the road.

Onions still have strong necks

The new mutt-chickens are in their upgraded abode. I went mental with the electric wire. The darling white picket fence is really my clever way of electrifying the fence door, which has always been a hole in my defenses since the door swings out and I couldn’t have the low wire in front of it. Now, I can easily step over the fence and open the door, but hopefully still keep marauders out. The chickens now enter the fenced run by way of a small door (unseen in the picture) that I cut into the end of the coop (nee playhouse). I am very proud of my handiwork, but was too lazy to document its making, so you’ll just have believe me when I tell you I did an excellent job. Anyway, short of Big Foot or Hedwig the Owl, I think they will be safe:

Fort Knox Chicken Coop and RunI can’t believe I just said that.

Atrocities Continue Despite Vigilance

We have no beaks
We have no beaks

For those following the story of the six slain chickens just over a week ago, this news of further atrocities cuts deep. In footage smuggled out late yesterday, these shocking photos point to a deeper level of conflict between the victims and the accused, now identified as Lola G. While details are sketchy, resident owner Jennie Menke had this to say:

“Well, we don’t know for sure if Lola ate their beaks off. They might have come that way. I bought them off Craig’s List to replace the six that were killed. It has been really cold lately. I didn’t really examine them all that closely.”

While Menke has declined to press charges against Lola, authorities are still gathering evidence and may pursue an indictment of aggravated assault as early as late this week.

Lola G. has not returned any of our calls and for now remains free. Authorities feel the question isn’t whether she is guilty or not, but rather, “What will she do next?” We’ll be watching this case closely and bringing you any news of further developments.

I have no comment.
Lola G., "I swear I didn't touch those stupid birds."

Senseless Killings Anger Residents

chickens-dead

Late Saturday, residents were left feeling helpless and angry after mass killings left six chickens dead. The carnage was discovered when owner Jennie Menke returned home from soccer practice with her daughter, Morgan. The first evidence was the lifeless carcass of a favorite Araukana hen known as Pepper.

“Actually,” Jennie Menke later explained, “All the black and white hens are named Pepper. It’s easier that way.”

Investigation continues into this seemingly random act of violence. Witnesses aren’t talking. However, authorities have been called to this residence in the past. Evidence suggests it was the work of experienced killers who have cooperated in past chicken violence at the home. Lola was not available for comment. Buzz, escorted into custody by Charlie Menke, simply stated “It wasn’t me.”

We’ll keep you posted on the events of this story as they unfold. Suspects in the Investigation